Her face was
a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides
gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and
breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling
Free.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come
from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked
at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole
in it and now goes around the country speaking at high
schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse
without one those boxes with a pinhole in it.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E.
coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like
that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like,
whatever.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch
tree.
The little boat gently drifted across the
pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the
pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
From the attic came an unearthly howl. The
whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're
on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00
p.m. instead of 7:30.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose
hair after a sneeze.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement,
just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Long separated by cruel fate, the
star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each
other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at
6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19
p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds
who had also never met.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
"Oh, Jason, take me!"; she panted,
her breasts heaving like a college freshman on $1-a-beer
night.
He was as lame as a duck. Not the
metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was
actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or
something.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and
extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire
hydrant.
It was an American tradition, like fathers
chasing kids around with power tools.
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he
thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck
backing up.
She was as easy as the TV Guide
crossword.
She walked into my office like a centipede
with 98 missing legs.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you
accidentally staple it to the wall.
Not mine!!! got it off internet and thought
it was halarious!! so here is a good laugh
:)
7 faves · Dec 23, 2009 5:57pm